"What?"
Shawn's voice came out barely above a whisper.
Rohan's chest was still heaving. The words were still in the air between all of them — I love Raha — and nobody knew what to do with them.
"Yes," Rohan said, louder now, not caring anymore. "Yes. I love her. I love Raha. And I would never — could never — do something like this to her."
Shawn looked at the floor.
Mr. Lee said nothing.
Shawn looked toward Raha's room — through the glass, still and pale and breathing through a mask — and felt something break open in his chest that he hadn't been prepared for.
The police officer who had been waiting patiently stepped forward.
"Mr. Rohan — our initial investigation has identified the vehicle. Purple in color. The plate number is still unconfirmed."
"Why unconfirmed?" Rohan's voice sharpened immediately. "Find it. Now."
"Sir — based on the CCTV footage, this does not appear to have been an accident." The officer's voice was measured, careful. "This was planned."
The room went cold.
Rohan looked at Shawn.
Shawn said what they were all already thinking. "Rabina. Bella. Grace. It was them."
Mr. Lee nodded slowly, his voice hard. "Yes. I ran into all three of them on my way back from Raha's house this morning. It had to be them."
Rohan didn't say another word. He turned and walked out with the police officer, fury burning so quietly in him it was almost invisible.
Mr. Lee followed.
In Paris, Subin stared at his phone.
One week. The earliest flight was one week away.
I can't wait one week.
"Grandpa," he said, his voice strained. "What do I do? There's nothing earlier. I can't just sit here."
His grandfather thought for exactly three seconds.
"I'll arrange something."
Subin called Shawn while he waited.
"Has she woken up?"
Shawn's voice came through hollow and flat. "No. Not yet."
The call ended.
Subin stared at his phone.
Why did he hang up like that?
Shawn sat beside Raha's bed again.
Just the two of them. The machines. The quiet.
He held her hand and looked at her face and thought about everything he hadn't said and everything he'd said too late and everything that was happening around her that she didn't know yet.
"Raha," he said softly. "I think I've become the one-sided one."
He almost laughed. It came out wrong.
"Rohan loves you. I'm pretty sure Subin does too — nobody worries that much for no reason." He paused. "I just want to tell you what's in my heart. Just once. I don't know what your answer will be. I don't even need one." His voice dropped. "I just want you to know."
He held her hand tighter.
"Wake up first. That's all I'm asking."
His grandfather found Subin pacing.
"It's arranged. A friend of mine is flying to India this afternoon on a private plane. You can go with him."
Subin stopped. "Private? But we don't—"
"He does. Get ready. You leave in a few hours."
Subin's whole face changed.
He grabbed his grandfather and held on for a second.
"Thank you."
His grandfather patted his back. "Go. Bring them home safe."
Evening came.
Shawn stepped outside for air. Rohan was already there, sitting against the wall, staring at nothing.
Neither of them spoke.
Inside, somewhere behind closed doors, Raha's mother was still in surgery.
The surgeon came out.
His face said everything before his mouth did.
Shawn was on his feet in an instant. "Doctor — how is she? How is aunty?"
Rohan stood beside him.
The surgeon lowered his head.
"I'm sorry. We couldn't save her. The blood loss was too severe."
Neither of them moved.
Rohan's voice came out strange and small. "What are you saying?"
"I'm deeply sorry, Mr. Rohan."
The doors opened.
They brought her out.
Rohan looked at the stretcher and couldn't breathe.
Shawn sat down on the floor of the corridor and put his face in his hands and cried without trying to stop.
After a while, Shawn stood up and walked outside.
The night air hit him like something physical.
What is happening?
When Raha wakes up — what do I tell her?
He stood in the hospital parking lot with wet eyes and looked back at the building.
She trusted us to keep her mother safe.
He stayed outside until he couldn't anymore. Then he went back in.
He found Rohan in Raha's room.
Sitting beside her bed. Holding her hand. Head bowed.
Shawn stood in the doorway and watched.
Rohan reached up slowly and brushed the hair from her face, the way you touch something you're terrified of losing.
"I'm sorry, Raha," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Shawn stood there for a long time.
Then he turned and walked away quietly.
I'm always in the wrong place at the wrong time, he thought, wiping his eyes as he went. They don't need me here.
Rohan didn't leave.
He sat through the night, her hand in both of his, talking to her sometimes and silent other times, promising things into the dark that he wasn't sure he could keep.
"I won't let them get away with this," he said at one point, his voice low and fierce and breaking at the edges. "Rabina. All of them. I warned them. They didn't listen."
He looked at her face.
"Just wake up. Please. That's all."
Morning came slowly.
Rohan was still there when the light changed — still sitting, still holding on, eyes red and dry now, long past tears.
And then —
A small movement. A flicker.
Raha's fingers tightened around his.
Rohan sat bolt upright. "Raha?"
Her eyes opened. Slowly. Painfully. Like someone surfacing from very deep water.
Rohan's face broke completely.
"Raha — you're awake. You're finally awake—"
His tears came before he could stop them, helpless and immediate.
Raha looked at him. Blinked. Looked around the room.
Then her hand moved — slowly, weakly — signing the one thing she needed to know.
Where is Mom?
Rohan went still.
He understood. He had understood the moment her hand moved.
"Wait," he said. "Let me get the doctor—"
He started to stand.
Her hand caught his wrist.
Where is Mom?
She signed it again, more urgent this time, eyes already filling.
Rohan looked at her face — desperate, frightened, already half-knowing — and felt the words turn to stone in his throat.
"Raha—"
She made sounds. Not words — she had no words — but sounds of grief and confusion and a fear so raw it had no name. She shook his arm, pleading with her eyes for an answer that wasn't the one she was afraid of.
"Raha, I—"
He couldn't.
He couldn't say it.
But he didn't have to.
She saw it in his face.
Her hand found his shirt and gripped it — tight, tighter — and she shook him, silently sobbing, her whole body shaking with it, the way grief moves when it has nowhere else to go.
"Raha," Rohan said, and his voice was gone completely. "Raha—"
She let go of his shirt and threw her arms around him instead, pressing her face against his shoulder, crying with everything she had.
Rohan held her.
He didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. He just held on.
The door opened.
Subin stepped in — rumpled from traveling, still half-catching his breath from running through the hospital—
And stopped.
Raha. Crying. In Rohan's arms.
Rohan's hand on her back, holding her like she was the only thing keeping him upright.
Subin stood in the doorway and stared.
He didn't move.
He didn't speak.
He just stood there, something shifting in his expression that he couldn't quite hide — surprise and grief and something else, something quieter and more painful, that he didn't have a name for yet.